


i feel numb most of the time

by orphan_account



Series: It Never Rains in Philadelphia [3]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: F/F, Gen, Gender or Sex Swap, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On her worst days, the ideas other people have about Denise Reynolds are all that keep her tethered to the notion that she is actually here.</p><p>A series of vignettes about Denise Reynolds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how long or short this will be. Currently Rhonda's story is stuck at eleven when I promised 22 so I am not making promises this time. Mostly I just wanted to stretch my legs a little bit and write in a universe I hadn't touched in a while. 
> 
> Title from "Numb" by Marina and the Diamonds.

Denise calls her newest ex-lover Ted at three in the morning several weeks after his emotional obliteration. She holds her breath as the phone rings; through no fault of her own, some men aren’t receptive to her system. Tonight is especially tense – Denise is six cigarettes and ten shots deep and still feels ready to shatter on the slightest impact. On nights like this, she locks her jewelry box with a key that she stores in the back of her sock drawer. If she falls apart, she’ll take anything in sight down with her. It only took one time to wake up in a pile of knotted necklaces, crushed costume jewelry, and earrings with backs lost to time to come up with a safeguard for bad days.

She reclines on the bed, phone still held to her ear. This isn’t out of relaxation; it’s strategic. Lying down makes her voice sound softer, sleepier, and childlike. The system doesn’t work without feigning innocence. There are only two kinds of men – those who think they can exploit her, and those who think they can save her. They love believing that underneath the manipulation and the lies and the filthy, filthy fucking, she’s just a wide-eyed waif whose only crime was being too scared to love them.

Idiots. The only thing underneath her gorgeous exterior is a bottomless hole where her soul is supposed to be. Buying into her game does nothing but fill it, just a little bit. They only save her in the way that capturing prey saves a hungry predator. One-sided and violent, but necessary all the same to keep things running the way they’re supposed to.

Hunting down the young ones always works the best. Ted is no exception. He’s 21, an art student, and had never been in love before. It will be a very long time before he loves anyone else again, too. Denise has made very sure of that; it’s why the system exists.

The phone clicks. “Hello?” says a sleepy voice.

“Hi, Teddy.” She emphasizes the slurring in her voice – it works well to pretend she’s drunker than she is so she can get out of whatever she says later. “It’s Denise.”

“Denise? Why are you calling at 3 o clock in the morning?” he says. She can hear him shuffling around on the other end, sitting up maybe, running his fingers through his hair. Ted thinks he’s getting a booty call. He catches on faster than some of the others did.

“I was just thinking about you. I know we ended on a bad note but I’ve just been so lonely ever since we broke up.” She sniffles for affect. “My bed feels so empty now.”

There is a long pause before he says, “Mine too.”

“Could you keep me company for one more night? I miss you so much, Ted.”

Guilt is already seeping through his brain, willing him to not go. _Don’t stick your dick in crazy_ it says, though her calculated actions are as far from crazy as it gets. To make this really work, she has to tug somewhere other than his heartstrings.

“I need you inside me tonight,” she moans.

He clears his throat. “I- I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Can’t wait,” she breathes, and hangs up.

He says fifteen, but he arrives in eight. The boy has it bad for her.

Later he’ll penetrate her on her bed in front of six hidden cameras and repeat as a mantra ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ She won’t say it back; she never does. Denise will fake an orgasm and take the position as the little spoon until Ted falls asleep. When his snores fill the room, she’ll extract herself from his arms, light another cigarette, stare out the window, and smoke until nothing but ash is left. She won’t get off until she kicks him unceremoniously out of her apartment the next morning, coldly telling him that it was all a terrible mistake. The pleasure will flow through her like a rushing river. For a little while, she’ll feel nearly whole.

Getting off is almost like having feelings again. Not quite as good, but it will do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cw for smoking, arguing that involves throwing a knife, and eating disorders.

Denise has her first cigarette of the morning every day at 9AM. She puts on a cup of coffee, opens up a window, and takes the first hit into her lungs with relish. Her nicotine routine intertwines beautifully with her controlled diet. Smoke. Coffee. Smoke. Lunch. Beer. Smoke. Dinner. Drinks. Smoke. Denise takes great pride in running on so little – one day it will whittle down to nothing at all, and she will be invincible.

This morning in particular, Ronnie comes out of her bedroom with a disgruntled look on her face. She’s shivering and hugging herself in her ratty nightgown.

“Jesus, Denise! It’s the middle of January. Close the goddamn window!”

Denise doesn’t look her in the eye. “You told me I couldn’t smoke in here if I left the window closed.”

Rhonda glares at her. “I was hoping it would make you stop smoking in the morning when it’s cold as shit outside.”

“God, you’re so bad at manipulation, Ronnie.”

“Ugh, whatever. You’re such a bitch,” mutters Rhonda. She migrates to the fridge, and rifles around inside it.

Denise takes a long drag on her cigarette, and pointedly blows the smoke inside the apartment. “Guilty.”

Rhonda pulls out eggs, and puts them on the counter. “Are you gonna eat anything?”

“Do I ever?”

“You should.” She squats down to get eye level with the pan cabinet, and begins rifling around in it. It clatters unpleasantly, making Denise wince. Her morning headache hasn’t gone away yet.

“Fuck, that’s so loud. Are you doing that on purpose?”

The noise intensifies. “I would never do something like that.” She extracts the pan she needs, and slaps it on the stove. Four eggs crack into it; Rhonda fumbles around in a drawer for the spatula she forgot to get, and slaps it on the countertop when she finds it. Then she migrates to the living room, and begins looking for something else.

“Don’t bother. I hid the remote.”

Rhonda gives her a puzzled look. “What? Why?”

“Because I knew you would want to watch The Food Network this morning, like you do every morning, at an irritatingly loud volume. So, I fixed it.”

Rhonda scowls, and presses on the button on the screen itself. “Great plan.”

“It wasn’t supposed to stop you,” says Denise, backtracking. “It was just supposed to make you think about your actions.”

The eggs hiss as Rhonda flips them over. “I think you need to take a good long look at your own actions before you start saying anything about mine.”

Denise puts out her cigarette, and goes to get her coffee.  _Here we go again._  “It’s way too early for a lecture on getting right with God.”

Rhonda sighs. “This isn’t about God, Denise.”

That’s new. “What is it about, then? Please enlighten me.”

“Your habits suck. They’re starting to piss me off,” says Rhonda, scooping her eggs onto a plate. She grabs a beer from the fridge, swings it shut too hard, and winces. Her inner aggression is shining through; she loathes it. Denise takes a sip of her coffee. It burns pleasurably as it goes down.

“ _My_  habits suck? Ronnie, you’re drinking a beer at nine in the morning and yesterday you huffed paint with Charlie for hours.”

“Whatever, dude. Irrelevant.” She pauses, and gets a gleam in her eye as though something truly wicked just passed through her mind. “You’re chain smoking too much to be a ten anymore.”

“What?!” Her fingers clench around her coffee cup, and her heart starts to race. 

“Yeah, I’d put you at about an eight now,” says Rhonda, mouth full of egg and looking at her plate. “My mom has been smoking for years and I’d rate her at about a six, so –”

Denise storms over to the table, and slams her coffee down. The burning liquid sloshes over the rim and onto her hand, sending sharp shoots of pain all through it.

Rhonda backs away from it, still not looking Denise in the eye as she cries, “Careful with that!”

Rhonda is going to have to claim her aggression today, because Denise is fucking tired of this bullshit. She puts herself inches from Rhonda’s face, angry breathing disturbing her hair.

“Do you wanna look me in the eyes and compare me to your deadbeat mother?”

Anger flashes in Rhonda’s eyes and aha – she does look. So goddamn satisfying.

“My mom is not a deadbeat.”

“Really? That’s news to me,” said Denise. Rhonda’s hands are shaking; one of them is still holding a butter knife. Denise moves just in time to avoid it being flung at her. Rhonda stands up and shoves her chair away from the table.

“You know what? Do whatever you want, Denise! Kill yourself with your cancer sticks, I don’t care. But if you do it in the house again I won’t miss with the knife next time!”

Rhonda storms away from her half-eaten breakfast, and slams her bedroom door behind her. Denise sighs, picks up the plate, and scrapes the food into the trash. No need to have temptation lying around when she’s stressed out like this.

She picks up her cigarettes off the windowsill and contemplates throwing them in the trash as well. Then, her head pounds unpleasantly and her vision blurs. She braces herself against the table until it passes. No, it’s best for her health to keep on smoking if she wants to avoid any of that nasty shit. Denise grabs her lighter and another cigarette and heads out to the filthy alley behind their apartment to give her body what it so desperately needs.


End file.
